


Dream A Little Dream

by thebearking



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Oral Sex, POV Bucky Barnes, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Smut, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7678654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebearking/pseuds/thebearking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're always there to comfort Bucky after a nightmare. He feels guilty for wanting more from you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream A Little Dream

**Author's Note:**

> very detailed smut ahead. featuring bucky's red henley. you know the one.

_Cold. Falling. Snow. Rocks hitting him on the way down. Contact with the canyon floor. Pain, so much PAIN—_

Bucky sat up with a scream, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. He whipped his head from side to side to gauge his surroundings, and even when he saw that he was in bed, in his room, in the Avengers compound, he could still feel the snow whipping into his face, the railing falling away from his hand, the _smack_ as he struck the bottom of the canyon. He shivered, pulling the covers more tightly around himself and turning onto his side.

The door to his room creaked open. His eyes darted to the movement, and his heart stuttered in his chest at the sight of you, peeking your head into the room timidly. “Bucky?” you called out into the darkness.

“Y-Yeah,” he answered breathlessly, sitting up again and reaching out to turn on the lamp on his bedside table.

You slipped into the room and shut his door behind you. “Another nightmare?” You sat on the edge of his bed, by his feet. He nodded. You scooted closer to him, your eyes filled with concern. You were clad only in an oversized shirt, and Bucky realized with a start that it was his own red Henley. His heart stuttered again. “You wanna talk about it?”

Bucky shook his head. “Just falling. Again. From the train.” He heard his own scream echoing in his head. He shut his eyes. “It’s nothing. Sorry if I woke you.”

You smiled weakly. “Don’t worry about it. You’re never a bother.” You placed your hand over his. “Is there anything I can do?”

He stared at the wall for a moment, mulling it over, before his eyes flicked back to yours. “Could you stay here? I just… I just need to be held.”

“Of course.” Even though you’d done this countless times before, your answer still shocked him. “Move over.” He obliged, making room for you, and you pulled back the covers to slip into bed beside him. He stayed propped up against the headboard. When he made no move to lie down, you sat up too. Whenever your arm brushed his, he stiffened, his jaw clenching. You radiated so much warmth, and you were always so soft, so impossibly soft, whenever you curled up around him, holding him close to ward off any nightmares that might come his way. He was worried about breaking you just from being in your presence.

“Bucky,” you whispered. He turned to look at you, and you stared back, your hand coming up to frame his cheek. He wondered if you could hear his heart pounding against his ribcage or the blood roaring in his ears. You leaned toward him and pressed your lips to his, and Bucky felt like he was falling, but it was a different kind of fall. He wasn’t worried about hitting the bottom; it felt like he never would. He was tumbling in open space, his eyes falling shut as you slid into his lap and deepened the kiss, tipping his head back. After some hesitation, he let his lips move gently against yours, tentatively. He had barely begun to reciprocate when you broke the kiss, pulling away from him. Bucky instinctively craned his neck to follow you, but you chuckled, letting your forehead touch his as you murmured, “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Bucky could barely breathe. You, straddling _his_ lap, wearing _his_ shirt, talking about how much _you_ wanted to kiss _him…_ Was he in heaven? “Me too” was all he could muster as a response. He searched your eyes for any sign of discomfort, of disgust, of any negative emotion, and he found none. Only your pupils blown wide with desire.

You grinned and kissed him again. When he felt your tongue against his bottom lip, he opened his mouth, letting his tongue meet yours. Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails scraping his scalp and tugging on his roots delightfully. He groaned against your mouth as you used your grip on his hair to tilt his head back, kissing him more deeply. He tugged on your lower lip with his teeth, making you sigh longingly into his mouth and arch your body into his. He figured that by this point you knew what you were doing to him, and that the feeling of his erection against the crux of your thighs would be no surprise, but when you rolled your hips into his, you let out the smallest gasp. His hands moved to the small of your back to hold you against him; he left the metal one laid flat against your spine, while the other crept upward to cup the back of your neck tenderly.

Again, you broke away, panting, and Bucky couldn’t suppress the whine of complaint when your lips left his. You tugged on the hem of his T-shirt, your eyes flitting to his, asking for permission. He nodded, lifting his arms to aid you as you pulled the shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the floor. Now, he sat with his upper body bare to you. At first, he looked away out of shame, itching to cover the marred parts of him where metal met flesh, to hide the scars crisscrossing his body—but when he snuck a glance at you, you were gazing at him intently, your eyes wide with awe.

Your name left his lips in a breathless whisper as you placed your hands on his chest, warmth emanating from your palms and into his skin. You trailed your fingers down to his stomach, tracing every dip and curve of muscle. Bucky trembled beneath your touch, his back arching forward, aching for you to feel more of him, and your fingers paused where coarse hair led beneath his navel down into his waistband. Again, you peeked up at him.

While the thought of you putting your hands on him below the belt was appealing, Bucky wanted you out of the shirt first. His chest was bare; it was only fair for you to return the favor. He grasped your Henley— _his_  Henley—and locked eyes with you as he inched the shirt over your frame. You made no move to protest, raising your arms just as he had done, and when the shirt was off of you Bucky balled it up and threw it behind you blindly, his eyes fixated on your newly bared torso.

He had never seen your chest before. He had seen it outlined underneath tank tops, T-shirts, muscle shirts, bandages, and Under Armour, leaving much to the imagination. He had imagined you nude before, how you might look and _feel_ , but it was nothing compared to the real thing. He didn’t realize he was staring until you cleared your throat, and he looked up to see you looking away, blushing, fiddling with your underwear. Bucky glanced downward and saw that your boyshorts were made of thin black lace, a pair he had seen in the laundry pile and inadvertently pictured you in before. He swallowed hard before lifting his hands from his lap and placing them on your waist. Your lips parted at the initial contact, but you relaxed under his touch, humming contently as his hands slid around to feel the planes of your back. His fingers moved to your belly, which he rubbed and pinched softly. You laughed, swatting his hands away, and he grinned, moving on, _finally_ , to your chest.

He cupped your breasts in his hands, kneading gently, especially so with his left hand. His thumb grazed your nipple and you gasped, arching into him, pushing your chest further into his hands. You were so soft, so goddamn soft, how had he gotten so lucky…

“Wanna put my mouth on ya,” he murmured absently. “Can I… Only if you want me to.”

“Yes, Bucky, please,” you exhaled, weaving your hands into his hair and pushing his head toward your upper half.

He nuzzled his face into your chest, making you squeak from the stubble on his cheeks. He kissed the inside of your right breast before taking the nipple into his mouth, suckling sweetly. You cried out when his teeth scraped over the pert bud, his right hand massaging your other breast.

His mouth detached from you with a _pop_. He licked his lips, his eyes never leaving you. “So good,” he mumbled, pulling you close to touch his lips to your neck. You sighed as he sucked on a spot right beneath your chin, hoping to leave a mark for all to see. Christ, he wanted you to leave marks on him, too. His lips trailed down to your collarbone, nipping your skin and soothing each bite with slow strokes of his tongue. “Doll, can I taste you?” he breathed into the hollow of your throat. Carefully, he brushed the heel of his right hand over the front of your underwear, applying the slightest pressure but still eliciting a quiet whimper from you that made his cock twitch in his pants. He could feel the wet warmth of your arousal on his palm. “Here, doll. Can I taste you _here_?”

You didn’t answer, only leaned back farther up the bed and spread your legs for him, your eyes searing into his. Your eyes were blacker than he’d ever seen, the pupils completely overtaking the irises. “Please,” you said sweetly.

Bucky nodded and crawled over to you. He tugged the waistband of your underwear down your thighs, your calves, and finally over your ankles. He had half a mind to stuff the garment under his pillow and keep it for himself, but he simply held his hand over the side of the bed and let them flutter to the floor. He knelt between your legs, spreading them farther to accommodate him, and marveled the sight of you lying in front of him, entirely nude, aching for his touch. Your sex glistened in the dim light, so tantalizingly close. He decided to waste no time and lay down, hooking your legs over his shoulders.

“Bucky,” you exhaled, and he pressed a kiss to your sex, almost growling when you let out the most lovely whine he’d ever heard. You tugged on his hair with your fingers and he enveloped you completely with his mouth, his tongue tracing the shape of you roughly. Your thighs flexed around his head as his ministrations grew more desperate, bringing you closer to the edge. You tasted even better than he had imagined, and the sounds you were making were outright pornographic, your back curving off of the bed in your ecstasy. He gripped your thigh in his left hand and moved his other to your entrance, prodding it gently before slipping a finger inside of you and lubricating you with your own juices. You nearly screamed, your legs trembling as you moaned expletives and blasphemous remarks that Bucky never thought he’d hear leave your mouth. He slipped in another finger and curled his digits inside of you, finding the one spot that drew you to a climax. You came on Bucky’s mouth, legs twitching from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and he licked up every drop, his tongue swiping over his lips to catch any juices dribbling down his chin. He sucked your sweetness off of his fingers, smirking up at you.

“You taste amazing, doll,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh before sitting up again. “How do you want me?” He loved the idea of dominating you and ramming into you until the bed broke, but for now, he only wanted what you wanted. He wanted to make this right for you, only the best for you.

You were panting, still coming down from your high. You struggled to sit up, straddling Bucky’s hips and pulling him in for a breathtaking kiss. The feeling of your hard nipples against his chest drew a throaty groan out of him, and his arms encircled your waist, holding you firmly against him so he could feel the entirety of your nude body aligned with his. He wondered if you could taste yourself on his lips, so you could appreciate the flavor of you just like he could. You pulled away too soon, licking your lips before angling forward to croon into his ear, “Wanna ride you, Bucky. Wanna ride your cock.”

Bucky became acutely aware of how much his cock was throbbing, how much it strained against the confinement of his sweatpants and boxers. You squeaked in protest as he lifted you effortlessly from his lap and deposited you gently on the bed in front of him. He scooted to the edge of the bed and stood, stripping quickly, before lying down half-propped against his pillows. He waited for you, pumping his cock a few times.

You watched him with a hungry look in your eyes, again licking your lips as your eyes zeroed in on his swollen member, fully revealed to you. You crawled forward on your hands and knees, taking your sweet time before placing your hands over his, pausing his ministrations. He flashed you a confused look but allowed you to remove his hands and replace them with your own. He nearly came right then and there when you ducked down and took the tip of him between your lips, sucking him off. You hummed around his cock, and the vibrations went straight to his core, making his muscles tense and a throaty groan leave his mouth. He bit on his lower lip so hard it nearly bled, hissing through his teeth as you lapped up the precum leaking from his slit. The sight of your pink tongue flicking out to taste him was too much for him, and he looked away, hoping you would let him come inside of you, not in your mouth.

“Please, doll,” he choked out, his metal hand coming to rest on your own, where it was jerking him off at the base. Your other hand stilled, having been massaging his balls and bringing him closer to completion. You looked up at him, puzzled. He chuckled darkly in spite of himself. “As much as I love having your sweet lil’ mouth on me, I’d prefer to come inside of you, sweetheart.”

You grinned like the Cheshire cat, your eyes lighting up with delight, and stood on your knees, shuffling forward until you hovered over him with his cock lined up with your entrance. While he tried to contain his excitement at being able to take you raw, he grasped your hips in his hands, nodding for you to continue. You held your bottom lip between your teeth as you lowered yourself onto him, sinking down at a pace that was comfortable for you. Bucky groaned and you cried out when he was finally buried to the hilt inside of you. You leaned forward, bracing your hands on Bucky’s stomach, your legs trembling around his hips while you adjusted to his girth, your walls stretching around him. He waited motionlessly, loving the tight, wet feel of you surrounding him, until you straightened up and rolled your hips forward, then back, starting to ride him at a slow rhythm.

“Ah!” you cried out, again and again as his cock managed to touch the deepest parts of you. “Bucky… you feel so _good_ …” You could barely speak between pants as you rode him. He bent his legs at the knee, pressing his feet to the bed for leverage, and began to drive upward into you in tandem with your grinding, eliciting more wanton moans from your lips while trying to breathe between his own.

“Wanted you for so long,” Bucky growled, his hands tightening around your hips. A particularly well-placed thrust had you gasping again, making his cock twitch inside of you. He slid his hands to the backs of your thighs and took two handfuls of your ass, drawing another moan from your lips. “Wanted… Wanted to hold you… Kiss you… Taste you… God, I wanted you so bad, sweetheart.”

“Me too, Bucky, oh, my _God_ , _me too!”_ you whimpered, throwing your head back as you quickened your pace, riding him faster, harder.

A few more thrusts and Bucky felt like he was going to explode. He cursed under his breath in Russian, wishing he could stay like this forever. “Baby, I’m not gonna last much longer,” he sobbed.

You grinned through your euphoria. “Don’t worry, I’m right behind you. _Ah!”_

He could feel himself beginning to come undone, every roll of your hips sending him closer and closer to the edge. He worried that he was holding you too tightly with his metal hand, and so he released your right hip, pressing the heel of his metal hand to your sex.

“Bucky, _please_ , faster!” you screamed, tipping your head back as he obeyed and began to stroke you harder, cold metal fingers dancing across your feverish skin. He took the time to gaze up at you, your chest heaving for breath, your eyes shut tight, your hands grasping the headboard on either side of him for dear life. Your legs were starting to violently shake; he could feel your movements lose rhythm as you neared your release. With a grunt, he thrust up into you, once, twice…

 _“James!”_ you cried out, and he was done for, your walls clenching around him as you came on top of him, your lips letting loose a string of moans _so loud and so sweet and—_

* * *

 Bucky jolted awake as he found his own release—only instead of emptying himself inside of you like he had planned, he came in his boxers. Daylight filtered in through the blinds. Frantically, he glanced over at the clock on his bedside table. It was 7:47 A.M. He was alone. You were nowhere to be found.

It had all been a dream. _A fucking dream._

He shut his eyes and saw you, bouncing on his cock like your life depended on it. _God_ , he could practically still taste your skin beneath his lips, your juices in his mouth. He could still feel your mouth around his cock, and then your walls so tight around him. He cursed himself, staring up dejectedly at the ceiling. You, showing up at his room in nothing but Bucky’s red Henley and a lacy pair of underwear, seeking his affections? It was too good to be true.

Oddly enough, this wasn’t the first dream he had had of you. They had begun last week, when the temperature hiked up into the nineties and Tony insisted on a team pool day. The sight of you half-naked in your swimsuit had stirred something deep within Bucky, something similar to how he felt when you would lie down with him after a nightmare. It had frightened him, but not as much as the wet dream that he’d had that night, waking up to find he’d made a mess in his underwear and that you hadn’t crept into his room to suck him off during a shower. Since then, his usual nighttime entertainment of Hydra flashbacks and chilling night terrors had been punctuated with warm, sweaty visions of you. The vividness of his imagination was disconcerting. It had all felt so _real_. As real as his nightmares, but better. _So much better._

To Bucky, you were the most virtuous human he knew. You were by no means pure and innocent—you were an Avenger, for God’s sake—but in his eyes, you were wholesome, complete. Sure, you made dirty jokes with Sam and cursed Tony out whenever he annoyed you, but at the same time, you were the one who helped drag your teammates to safety when the mission went rogue; the one who took on Natasha in the sparring ring when no one else would; the one who listened to Bruce’s long-winded science talks even when you didn’t comprehend a word he was saying; the one who answered Steve’s questions whenever Clint made obscure pop culture references. You were the one who patched Bucky up in private after missions, joined him when he was sitting alone in the common room, played with his hair during movie nights, held him after night terrors. You brought out the best in everyone, even in him, but it was a temporary fix for his intrusive thoughts and dissociative spells of self-doubt. You were too good for him. The fact that he had shamelessly gotten off to the mere image of you was evidence of that fact. It disgusted him, knowing that he’d objectified you so dirtily, so many times. You were his friend, not a damn pin-up. You deserved better.

He decided that his first objective was to clean himself up. With a sigh, he pushed back the covers, disentangling them from his legs, and made his way into the bathroom, wondering how he was going to be able to face you at breakfast.

* * *

 He shuffled into the kitchen to find Steve was the only one present, which was great, since he was the only one he could bear to see at the moment.

“Morning, Buck,” Steve greeted him, clapping him on the shoulder when he entered the kitchen. “Missed you today on the morning run.”

“Sorry, overslept,” Bucky mumbled, stepping around him to grab the bag of bread from the pantry. He opened it up and slipped four slices into the toaster. “Won’t happen again.”

“Rough night, Bucky?”

His whole body stiffened at the sound of your voice, quiet with fatigue but edged with concern. He fought the urge to turn to you and wrap an arm around you like he usually would in the morning. “I slept fine,” he answered gruffly, activating the toaster. “Just went to bed late.”

You paused. Bucky swallowed down the guilt in his throat, knowing you had noticed his aloofness. “O.K.,” you finally said, heading toward the fridge. Your arm brushed his as you walked past him, and Bucky flinched involuntarily. He saw you grip the refrigerator door so hard that your knuckles whitened.

He snuck glances at you while he waited for for his toast. You were way more dressed than you’d been in his dream, clad in a T-shirt, drawstring pants, and thin cotton robe. You looked endearing actually, your hair still mussed from sleep. Yet when he blinked, he saw you on top of him, riding him, screaming his name. He shook his head, dismissing the images, his heart welling up with shame. His toast popped up and he went to gather it, realizing that he had been staring at you for too long.

You sat down at the kitchen island next to Steve, arms laden with yogurt and fruit that you began to slice. Your expression was neutral, but your eyes looked stormy. “Morning, Cap,” you greeted him, yawning. Steve tousled your hair fondly. The action made Bucky’s body tense, his metal hand tightening into a fist with a mechanical whir. If anyone deserved someone was wonderful as yourself, it was Steve, Mr. Righteousness himself. _Steve_  wouldn’t have dreams of pounding you into the mattress every other night.

“You sleep O.K., kid?” Steve asked, shoveling cereal into his mouth, his brow creased with worry. “Not to be rude, but you look a bit… fatigued.”

You shrugged, dumping slices of strawberry and kiwi into your bowl of yogurt. “Woke up a few times,” you explained nonchalantly, but when your eyes flashed to Bucky, he gulped. You were definitely going to question him on his standoffish behavior later. “Nothing too horrible. I’ll live, but sleeping in late is my specialty. I should still be in bed.”

“Really? Why don’t you go back to sleep?” Steve mumbled around a mouthful of food. _Close your mouth while you chew, punk_ , Bucky wanted to chide.

“And miss seeing my favorite senior citizens at breakfast? No way.” This time, you sent Bucky a cheeky grin. He couldn’t even resist grinning back, but it was thin-lipped and strained.

Steve had apparently finished his cereal. He gathered the bowl and his spoon and deposited them into the dishwasher. “Well, I better get going.”

“Where ya heading?” Bucky asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. He did not want to be alone with you right now.

Steve chuckled. “I promised I’d let Nat do my makeup. She said she’d make me look pretty.”

“Aw, Stevie, you’re already pretty,” you tutted, stirring more fruit into your yogurt. “Still, tell her to send me a photo of the finished product. And go easy on the eyeliner.”

“Will do.” Steve moved to ruffle Bucky’s hair next; his hand whipped out to stop him, but Steve ducked beneath it and clapped his cheek instead. Bucky huffed in complaint. “See ya later, Buck. You owe me a run.” He jogged off down the halls.

Bucky glared after him. “Punk,” he muttered, beginning to spread peanut butter over his toast. He stood across from you at the kitchen island, avoiding your gaze.

You were silent for a few moments, stirring your yogurt with a spoon, before you finally spoke up. “You know, F.R.I.D.A.Y. woke me up last night,” you began loftily. “Said you were distressed and required my presence.”

Bucky bit on his lower lip. A while back you and he had arranged for F.R.I.D.A.Y. to wake you whenever he was in the midst of a night terror, since both the distance between your rooms and the fact that you were a deep sleeper prevented you from hearing him. “Yeah? I don’t remember having any nightmares.” _Just some sex dreams._

“I thought you might have been having one,” you explained, setting down your spoon and leaning over the counter on your elbows, “so I went down to your room to see for myself.”

Bucky froze, his knife poised over the jar of peanut butter. “Really?” he said, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Mhmm,” you hummed. He looked over at you to find you smirking impishly, your eyes glinting. “You weren’t having a nightmare. But you seemed to be having some interesting dreams.”

“Can’t imagine what they were about,” Bucky choked out, his eyes pleading.

“Mmm, I have an idea,” you purred, batting your lashes at him coyly. “From the way you were moaning and calling out my name, you seemed to be enjoying yourself.” Your tongue swiped over your lips, drawing Bucky’s attention to your pretty little mouth. “Were you? Were you enjoying yourself, Bucky?”

He didn’t answer. He went back to preparing his peanut butter toast, focusing on spreading rather than on your suggestive tone or the look in your eyes or the way your neckline had dropped to reveal more of your chest to him when you’d leaned forward.

“James?”

Bucky almost bent the knife when you addressed him like that. He inhaled deeply through his nose, exhaling through his mouth. He ran a hand through his hair, combing his fingers through it shakily. “And if I was?” he asked, his voice huskier than he’d intended. His eyes flitted up to yours.

You were smiling coquettishly, your eyes dark with desire. “If you did”—you leaned over until your lips were at his ear—“I’d say that if you want something from me, just say so. I’m more than willing to help. I have needs, too, y’know.” You kissed his cheek—making him gasp even though you’d done so many times before—before sitting back in your chair and digging in to your yogurt, winking at him.

Bucky stood slumped against the counter, his eyes wide at your proposition. All at once the scenes from his dream flashed before his eyes like a movie, one in which you and Bucky were the stars. You wanted him. You _really_ wanted him.

He released a rattling breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding and continued to make his breakfast, feeling giddy when he felt you watching him the whole time. If you were telling the truth, if you wanted him—no, _needed_ him—as much as you had implied…

Well, neither of you were going to get much sleep tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> maybe i'll write a sequel... maybe...


End file.
